BloodStreaked Reputation
by FinalHeavenXIII
Summary: Hwoarang is placed under arrest after a vicious murder in the Korean military. Not quite discontinued, but most definitely not updated consistently. An update HAS been rumored however, and we are currently staking out the alleged author's house.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:  
  
Hello! *waves* Most of you probably aren't familiar with my work, because my other fanfics are in the Final Fantasy 7 group, but I couldn't help noticing all of the Hwoarang fics. They were practically all yaoi or lemon. So I decided to throw one of my twisted stories to the mix. We'll see how it goes. If you absolutly HAVE to flame me (meanies!^_~), say it constructively. I'd like to know WHY you don't like it so I can fix it, ok? Now that we've got that cleared up, on to the fic!  
  
  
  
It was dark. Hwoarang guessed it to be about midnight. He and some of his army friends had gone AWOL, *again*. But tonight wasn't as fun as all the other nights had been. For most the night, Hwoarang just sat in the back of the "borrowed" hummer without a word, his expression pensive. Of course, his silence aroused many questions from his friends. Hwoarang was normally the first to get drunk, and the most reluctant to get back to the military camp. But tonight, he blended with every shadow, and only spoke when answering certain questions.  
  
"Yo, Hwoarang! You alive back there?" asked one of his friends. He turned around to look at his copper-haired companion. "Hellooooo? What is up with you tonight?"  
  
Hwoarang looked up. "Nothing. Tonight's just different."  
  
The ebony-skinned youth sitting beside him gave Hwoarang a questioning look. "Wutta you talkin' 'bout? We do dis all da time and you've always been da loudest and da wildest. Wassup wit you?"  
  
Hwoarang stayed silent. He stared at the rapidly passing scenes outside the vehicle. He saw all kinds of people. Drug dealers, thugs, hookers, street gangs...it was the same thing day and night. People just trying to get by. But if this was the same as any other night, why did he feel so depressed?  
  
This definitely wasn't the worst place in his life. He remembered his childhood. He had a sweet Korean mother who had moved to America two years before he was born. It was only six months after she had moved and already a man had attracted her. About five months later, she became pregnant.  
  
After Hwoarang was born, she still had not married his father, and she never did. Three years later she had been murdered by the same man who was Hwoarang's father. Every night, his father would come home and beat Hwoarang, drunk or otherwise. Sometimes it was better when he was drunk; he couldn't aim his punches. By the age of ten, Hwoarang had left and joined a gang. One year later he was tought tae kwon do by Baek Doo San. He became a master at age seventeen. When he became nineteen, he had already killed the gang leader and gained control. He swindled others for money, betting on fights while concealing his true power. After drawing with Jin Kazama, and learning the death of his teacher, Hwoarang sought revenge, against both Jin and the Toshin. He won both.  
  
It wasn't long before Hwoarang grew tired of America, and moved to his homeland. He had barely been there a month when he was put into the military. Twenty one years old, and Hwoarang had already claimed the title of the best soldier in the military. But his habit for breaking the rules kept him at the rank of lieutenant. But the military was boring. All the combat done was in a sneak attack, and practically no opposition sprang to the challenge of facing Hwoarang. He missed his gang, and he missed the King of Iron Fist Tournament. Going AWOL was always fun, and it always lightened his spirits. WHY wasn't tonight the same?  
  
"Um, well guys, you wanna head back to base?" asked the sandy-haired man named Arick. "I really, REALLY don't wanna hafta have KP again."  
  
There were murmurs of agreement. The loss of Hwoarang's spirit was a great impact on the all th soldiers' night. They drove back to the base in silence.  
  
  
  
The next day was just as all the other days were. Hwoarang and his four friends were forced to KP duty for a week as punishment, much to his blonde friend's dismay.   
  
'Well, at least I'm not hungover this time.' thought Hwoarang.   
  
"This totally SUCKS!" yelled Arick. "Can't they think of a better punishment?! Like setting up the obstacle course?"  
  
Unfortunatly, the captain of his divison heard him, and assigned him two more weeks of KP. "Aw, man..." moaned Arick.  
  
While washing the dishes after dinner, Arick sneaked his way over to Hwoarang on the other side of the kitchen. "Hey, if you promise to actually *say* something this time, you wanna go out again?" he whispered. In a normal voice he said, "You need help with the chili pot?"  
  
"Thanks Arick." Hwoarang said, trying not to sound too fake. Under his breath he muttered, "Sure, I'll get the other guys. Sorry about last night."  
  
  
  
Once again, the five men were out on the town. The five men, Hwoarang, Arick, the black-skinned Dan, and the two brown-haired brothers Sam and Alex. Tonight Hwoarang felt as he normally did. They drank, gambled, and picked fights.   
  
"Yeah, dat's right! You were totally out of it last night, and now your back! Wut happened?" Dan asked.  
  
Hwoarang just grinned. "give me one good reason to tell you guys."   
  
"Yeah, we got yo' money!" Alex yelled from his perch on the open window of the hummer.  
  
"Oh, nice!" Arick punched Alex, nearly pushing him out of the window. "You gotta tell us now, you red-haired bastard!"  
  
"Oh, screw you!" Hwoarang shouted over the sounds of honking horns. "Fine! I really don't know what happened, okay? Hey, maybe it was that awful beer we drank the day before!"  
  
"Hey hey hey! That was the best bar we've been to so far! Don't even get me started!" retorted Arick.   
  
The night continued that way. The five of them bar-hopping, and they returned to base at two, where they slept for three hours before waking at dawn.  
  
'I don't know why,' thought Hwoarang as he forced himself to shuffle over to his clothes, 'but today seems different. I can feel it. Something's going to happen.'  
  
  
  
A/N:  
  
Okay, cliffhanger. I hope you guys can hold on! I just need to get the plot adjusted and the next chapter will be comin' out soon! I hope you guys liked it. If you didn't, tell me why and I'll try to fix it, okay? C'ya! 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:  
  
I'm hurt *sniff*. No one reviewed my original second chapter. So I made it better! It's totally different guys, and more to the plot. The beginning's sort of the same, but it changes, I swear! Hope you like it!  
  
  
  
It was eight o' clock and Hwoarang and his army buds had KP for another week. After adding up the total amount of times at least Hwoarang had gone AWOL, he practically invented the term, he had been AWOL fifty-six times in the two years he was in the army. The captain finally decided to sentence Hwoarang fifty extra laps per week. Of course the red-haided Korean didn't mind. Baek had made him do worse things.  
  
Thinking of his teacher sent a a sudden longing once again for the old days. He was heartsick for his gang, Baek and, though he found it hard for him to swallow, he even missed the people of the King of Iron Fist Tournament. His sadness made him even more of an ass than usual. Even the drillmasters noticed the change in his personality.  
  
"Hwoarang! What is wrong with you? We've been through this drill at least twenty times before and you've always done it perfectly! Now shape up and do it right!"  
  
Hwoarang glared at the drillmaster. "Maybe if you weren't such an awful teacher I would get it right!" he snapped angrily.  
  
The teacher stared for a moment. Hwoarang was ALWAYS difficult, but he normally didn't insult his superiors so directly. Quickly regaining her composure, the drillmaster's eyes hardened. "Alright fire-hair, if that's the way you want it, you get to come here every morning two hours before sunrise and make up this drill until you get it *perfectly*. For your impertinence, you get run five laps around the field as soon as it rains!" seeing the rest of the class had stopped to watch, the drillmaster shouted, "Did I tell you to stop? Get to work unless you wanna join Mr. Hwoarang!"   
  
Quickly, the rest of the group continued the drill. Low punch, high kick, high block, mid block, dodge left, low kick right block. To Hwoarang, it was totally pointless. He learned all this before! he had needed to, Baek had said that in order to get the better moves down, he needed to synchronize his attacks, his blocks and counter attacks. "If any of these are done even a milisecond later, it leaves you vulnerable." he had been scolded. Every time the blocks, attacks or counter attacks were late, Baek immediatly punched his weak point.  
  
Again, his heart ached for his past. Again, his foot slipped as he released his low kick.   
  
'Damn, I'm just timing this perfectly aren't I?' he thought angrily. That was how his day had conitnued. Messing up, getting yelled at, shouting back, and getting new punishments. He was even cold to his friends.  
  
"Hey Hwoarang, what's wrong?" Arick asked quizzically. "You're normally only this pissed when you've got a major hangover."  
  
"Shut up!" he snapped. "You wouldn't be in such a good mood either. This place sucks."  
  
Arick was thoroughly confused. "What? You've never complained about the army before. Well, you have, but not, so...straightforward. I don't get it."  
  
Hwoarang's anger quickly turned into hatred. He now glared at not a friend, but an enemy.   
  
"You wanna make something of it, bastard?"  
  
Arick's eyes widened in shock. "Wha-what did you say?!" Hwoarang's anger seemed contagious, and they were soon staring each other down, ready to fight.  
  
Hwoarang smirked. "You heard what I said. C'mon! I can take you!"  
  
Arick's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't be able to if your life depended on it." His voice was dangerously low, his muscles tensed as he readied himself for combat.   
  
As soon as the words spilled out of his mouth, Arick realized what a big mistake he had just made.   
Hwoarang charged, and immediatly kicked out low knocking Arick off his feet as he slid under him. Arick stood and faced Hwoarang, waiting for him to make the next move. Hwoarang moved closer and kicked out with first his left and then his right leg in quick succesion, leaving his back vulnerable but neutralizing Arick for the time being. He jumped back up onto his feet and threw furious punches at Hwoarang's face. Hwoarang blocked all but one punch and stepped back to recover. Arick advanced as Hwoarang stood in ready position. When Arick was close enough, Hwoarang ducked down low and kicked his adversary in the shins and then in the torso, sending Arick up into the air. As he fell, Hwoarang kicked him rapidly. Arick landed with a thud, and got up slowly. Hwoarang was already upon him. He grabbed him by his arm, kicked him once in the stomach and then ground his heel into Arick's face. Hwoarang kicked out, and a sickening crack was heard. He let his opponent drop to the ground.  
  
A crowd had gathered around the two fighters, and everyone gasped as Arick's body fell. For a while, no one moved. The only sound that could be heard was Hwoarang's labored breathing. Soon a girl came up to Arick and checked for a pulse. Hwoarang recognized the girl, Emica. She had loved Arick dearly ever since she had first seen him, and now she sat beside him, determining his condition. Soon she stood and faced the onlookers.  
  
"He...he's dead." she said shakily. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed beside Arick crying.  
  
Hwoarang's expression remained passive. His face never showed any sort of emotion, even as Emica sat there, weeping over Arick's lifeless body, screaming "He's dead! He's dead!" into her hands. Hwoarang could not tell how long he stood there. He watched as Emica's friends picked her up and took her to her bunk. When his other three friends yelled at him, even tried to hit him, he just stood there, none of their words going to his mind. He felt as if nothing would connect right. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't show emotion. He just walked obediently as drill sergants took him to see the captain for his punishment. Behind him he heard more drill sergants picking up the Arick's bloody body and carrying it off somewhere.  
  
As drill sergants restrained him, Hwoarang regained his senses. He realized what he had just done. He had fought one of his best friends over a silly arguement. He could have easily told his friend to give up. Instead, he killed him. He remembered the crack of Arick's neck, what it had felt like. He remembered the feeling of fighting when he knew his opponent didn't stand a chance, and the adrenaline rush as he claimed victory of a worthless, bloody battle.  
  
A corner of his mouth curved upward. Most importantly, he had liked it.  
  
  
  
A/N:  
  
Well? Well? Was it better? Was it worse? Did you like it? More stuff to come! Please R&R! 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:  
  
I can't believe I'm updating this. I had no idea people still read this. But I got nice reviews, and I intend on following through with it! TO THE CHALLENGE!  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Hwoarang groggily opened his eyes to the cold, concrete ceiling that stared down at him. He squinted as he recalled where he was and why he was there. He was in the small jail that his military base kept normally for soldiers who had minor crimes. Most soldiers who stayed there were released within a few weeks, six months at the most. But not Hwoarang. So brutal a murder had not been committed in the Korean military for quite some time, and his sentence was to be as quick and harsh as his trial was.   
  
Death.  
  
The firing squad to be ready by dawn on the eighteenth of November, only three days away. But the skilled martial artist wasn't afraid. He had laughed in the face of death many times before, and wouldn't be surprised if he cheated it one more time.   
  
But something small inside him was constantly nagging at him, reminding him how hopeless the situation was. He was at the heart of a military base, patrol constantly keeping intruders away from the base, and Hwoarang was sure that they could keep people in just as easily. He frowned as he argued with himself.  
  
I've done this in prison before, I can do it again.  
  
But prison isn't a military base. Security officers weren't trained there for the sole purpose of protecting the country. These people always have at least one gun with them.  
  
They can forget their guns. My weapon will always be with me as long as I use it to keep it sharp. This'll be the perfect oppotunity to be sure if my skills are as good as they always were.  
  
There's always an officer walking around the base. They'll sound the alarm faster than you can run.   
  
Then I'll kill them before they sound the alarm.  
  
How many do you think you'll have to take down?  
  
At his own question, Hwoarang grinned. All of them.  
  
If he suceeded in destroying the entire base, he knew that the rest of the Korean military would be after him. He remembered the days when the police were chasing him. Everyday was adrenaline-packed, and he had always loved the rush of his pursuit. Eventually the police gave up, and rewards for his capture had long since been forgotten. All that ended a few weeks before The King of Iron Fist Tournament 3, and ever since things had been boring despite all of his missions. Hwoarang smirked as he leaned against the wall reminiscing of his past. Those days would be back, and the rush would return.  
  
Through half-closed eyes, Hwoarang murmured, "Three days."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Wednesday and Thursday passed faster than Hwoarang ever imagined possible. Friday, the scheduled day of his death, began with a blood red rising sun. The young man walked with his usual swagger, handcuffed and sandwiched between two huge officers. One looked down and saw the cocky smile on the red head's face. He elbowed Hwoarang in the ribs and asked gruffly, "Whot're you so happy 'bout? T'day's th' day you die."  
  
Hwoarang looked up at the large man and continued to smile. "On the contrary. You're the one who gets die. But don't worry. I'll send others with you. The least I can do is send your commanding officer to hell along with you."  
  
The muscular soldier shook his head, slightly disgruntled at Hwoarang's attitude. "You crazy, you know dat?"  
  
"I'll choose to ignore that."   
  
For the rest of the five minute walk to the point where the firing squad was, an akward silence left a gap between the two men. Silently, Hwoarang wondered if his plan would even work. And if it did, what then?  
  
'Don't think about those things just yet.' he scolded himself gently as the captain came into sight.  
  
The captain was fine looking man, around his late thirties. His long raven hair was tied back into a ponytail, one lock, slightly shorter than the rest, hung near his left eye and tickled his chin. Deep set brown eyes carefully surveyed the young man before him.   
  
"Pity." was the only word that came out of the captain's lips after a long observation of the young Korean soldier. Turning to the burly men who held Hwoarang, the captain waved them off. Both officers walked away quickly, hoping to get far away from both the captain and the hardened soldier due for the firing squad. Again, the captain turned to Hwoarang.  
  
"I say pity because you were probably once a very good soldier. Muscular, swift, at one point, you would stop at nothing to complete your missions, am I not correct?"  
  
Snorting, Hwoarang continued to smirk at the captain.   
  
"Hm. Well, now I see that somehow you've ended up here, with the firing squad ready before your very eyes. How does it feel?"  
  
Even if the captain had given him time to answer, Hwoarang was sure that it wouldn't have been welcomed. Circling like a shark, the captain continued.  
  
"You look like the type who had a hard childhood. You understood the true feeling of pain, and walked hundreds of paths bearing it all alone. But you found a way to make that pain stop, didn't you? You decided to fight. And not just fight on the street, but fighting in tournaments as well. Yes, I saw you in all of The King of Iron Fist Tournaments you entered, young Hwoarang, and I must say I'm impressed. Isn't it a sad fate that you were called to the army? Otherwise, you might still be on the streets, with with your gang and hustling money from all those stupid enough to challenge you. You might even have entered other King of Iron Fist Tournaments if any had been called.   
  
That's too bad, Hwoarang, because fate has turned on you, and drops you on my doorstep. Now you face penalty of death. Do you like it? Does your heart beat in the same way it did as you stepped into the ring to face your opponents?"  
  
"Uh?" Hwoarang shook himself awake at looked back at the black haired man. "Sorry I missed that. Mind running it by me again?"  
  
Smiling icily, the captain looked down at Hwoarang. "Let me ask you this, are you familiar with the Christian idea that Jesus Christ was killed on a Friday? Don't you feel lucky that you will be as well? Perhaps it will ease your passing down to hell."  
  
Hwoarang matched the taller man's stare and said simply, "I'd say the same to you, but I'm hoping that your 'passing' will be as painful as they come."  
  
The captain didn't even have time to blink before Hwoarang was out of his handcuffs and had his superior pinned to the ground. Quickly pulling out the helpless man's knife, he surveyed it and said casually, "My, my, aren't butterly knives illegal?" and slit his throat.  
  
The young Korean had timed the attack perfectly. The first man on the firing team had just begun to walk out of the weapons shed when the murder of his captain had occured. The last thing he saw was the fire that crackled in Hwoarang's eyes. Quickly Hwoarang hid right next to the door and stabbed the next person. Jumping into the shed with a cry, he was able to kill everyone of them, but was unable to stop the inevitable alarm.   
  
Swaggering casually out of the weapon shed, the redhead coolly ran a finger down the still wet blood that stained his newly acquired butterfly knife. He grinned wolfishly and ran head-on at the soldiers who had answered the alarm, adrenaline pumping through his veins and the blaze of a berserker shining in his eyes.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
A/N:  
  
Well, that's what I've managed to come up with through school, karate, daily chores, homework, etc. If people are REALLY upset with the fact that I didn't write out Hwoarang's fight with the entire military base, I'm sorry, but it would only get repetitive, boring, and not to mention extremely difficult. Let me know if you disliked that, and I'll see what I can do. Oh yeah, and for those of you who know a lot about military stuff, ranks, etc. bear with me please because I'm pretty sure that I don't know a whole lot about it. (But correction would be helpful! ^_^) Ta ta!  
  
~Mai  
  
P.S. Just incase you didn't know, a butterly knife is like a switchblade (I'm at least 90% sure anyway) but has two blades; one on each end. T_T Butterly swords are the coolest! Not sure if they're illegal in Korea though...hadn't thought about it till now... 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:  
  
HAHAHAHAHAHA! I 'M BACK! -_- My computer decided to die on me, and ALL of my files were deleted. There was nothing important on there anyway, but my fanfics were deleted and I had started the next chapter of this and Demon's Eye. So I had to get all of my fics off of the posted ones on FF.Net...Anyway! ^_^ It's nice to know that people like this fic. Everyone's been asking which way Hwaorang will turn, back to the Hwoarang you guys picture him as (a.k.a. sane) or if he'll continue to be a victim of my twisted imagination. ^________^ It's so awesome that you guys are actually asking! I love it! Well, incase you didn't know, my system for updates nowadays is as long as I get a review from someone who wants me to continue. Not five reviews, not three, ONE. Ain't it great? *mutters* Only problem is I have to kick myself in the ass to get on it...  
  
~*3 months later (I'm not kidding. It really WAS 3 months)*~  
  
Wow, I wrote that so long ago. o.O* just goes to show how well I can "kick myself in the ass," doesn't it?   
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Small droplets of rain fell into Hwoarang's eyes as he looked up at the overcast skies. For at least a day he had ran from the military base, following the nearby highway. With no shelter from the ever-increasing strength of the rain, or food for that matter, he decided that the best course of action was to go to the nearest city. It was amazing how easily it was to revert to old habits. Trudging along, his scowl increased as the rain began to fall more insistently, reminding him that he needed to get to town as fast as possible, unless he wanted pneumonia. The clouds reminded him of Baek's old dojo and how he had spent his rainy days then: outside, training. Baek had never been easy on him, even in the stormiest weather.   
  
"Now that I think about it," Hwoarang muttered to himself, "it's a miracle that I never got sick."  
  
As he continued along his desolate path, his shoes slapping against the already wet concrete, memories suddenly began to flood and overwhelm him. Baek. The dojo. The streets. He longed once more for the fights, his want becoming a deep, aching pain that every true warrior felt but none could describe. He longed to see the light in his opponent's eyes, always different for each person, but always blazing with a need similar to his own. He longed for anything and everything that involved combat. But most of all, he longed for the rush of adrenaline that always accompanied it. He longed to feel its blistering heat, engulfing him completely in its sweet embrace. Taking him over, locking him into a state of sweet rapture.   
  
The rain began to fall harder, heavy drops pelting the back of his downcast head. He grimaced as a trickle of water found its way down his hair into his eye. Looking up, he judged the city to be about a mile away. If he ran, he could make it there in under five minutes...  
  
But where would he go?  
  
Realization struck Hwoarang harder than rain ever could. He had no money at all, which ruled out practically all possibilities of shelter. The only immediate solution he could think of was the alleys. Unfortunatly, all of South Korea's city streets were ruled by one gang or another, all of which were extremely territorial, and trusted no one. The only thing they trusted was money. Even he could not stand up to five men with switchblades, and contrary to popular belief, they did not attack one at a time.   
  
It wasn't long before the young Korean's quick thinking saved him once again. "The only thing they trust is money..."   
  
Running on that fact alone, he broke into an all-out sprint to the blurred lights ahead.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Upon reaching the city, Hwoarang immediately began a search for an alleyway that would suit his needs best. He trotted along the littered streets, peeking around different corners. It wasn't long before he found the perfect alley. It was about ten feet wide, its brick walls covered in graffiti of all different tags. A dim orange light radiated from an old street lamp at the mouth of the lane. A fire escape for the neighboring building provided decent cover from the still-pouring rain. Squinting to see the alley's end, Hwoarang was able to make out a vague outline of a strange shape. It looked as though it had been bent backwards at the corner, as though the alley were a forgotten page and its corner bent to remind an unknown reader of its existence. He smirked, feeling his skin prickle as he prepared himself for the task ahead. Chocolate eyes bright with excitement, he scanned the soaked pavement for anything that he could throw. He scooped up a small pipe, and chucked it against the wall. It ricocheted, slamming into a pile of dented trash cans. The harsh sound echoed down the alley.  
  
"Hey! Anyone care to greet me?!"   
  
Silence.  
  
Then a muffled mumbling sounded from the back of the lane, but no voice rose to meet his challenge. Cocking his head irritatedly, he ran in and kicked a trach can towards the bent shape. A loud "Hey!" reached the Korean's ears, followed by several cries of indignation. Slowly black silhouettes appeared seemingly out of no where and began swaggering towards Hwoarang. He counted seven gang members in all.   
  
All seven people stopped just at the edge of the circle of light the lamp gave off, their faces remaining in the shadows that they were so familiar with. Heavy rainfall obscured any detail that the light miraculously caught. Tension clung to the atmosphere as neither the gang nor Hwoarang moved, both parties sizing up the other. The redhead's eyes flicked over each dark shape, taking in the bare minimum. Judging by their build, he found that all were predictably men, most likely around his age or older. The heavy silence wore on for what seemed like hours, until a high, scratchy voice cut through it like a knife through warm butter.  
  
"Wha' ya want?"  
  
"Can't figure it out? Your dumber than gangs were when I came here last." came his cocky reply.  
  
Agressive growls rumbled from the dark forms before him, accompanied by the click of switchblades. 'Predictable.' he mused.  
  
"What sort of business do you guys run?" Hwoarang's rambunctious voice was not dampened by the rain. The same rough voice gave him yet another predictable response.  
  
"Back off punk. We're not playn' twen'y questions here."  
  
Hwoarang smirked and ran his fingers through his damp cropped hair, flicking a bit of rain water to the ground. "That's too bad. My gang used to bet on fights. I figured you'd wanna try it out." he raised his chin and stared down at them, eyes blazing with defiance. "Of course, unless you're scared."  
  
More growls and a bit of scuffling ensued as five of the men got into a fighting stance. From the largest figure came a deep voice, muted slightly by the rain, "We ain't scared. Come at us!"  
  
Hwoarang narrowed his eyes a little, his smirk still in place. "I know what you want. And if you plan on getting any money outta me, you'll have to fight me. One on one. No weapons."  
  
"How 'bout I take th' money frum ya right now?!" the man lunged lunged, but a much leaner, shorter silhouette blocked him with an outstretched arm.   
  
"No." a calm, even voice came from the smaller figure. The way the larger man complied obediently like a whipped dog to an abusive master made it obvious that the shorter gang member was the leader. He turned his head to the ex-soldier before him. "What're the earnings?"  
  
"The bet's two hundred bucks. You got it?"  
  
"Yah. We got it." the man stepped into the lamplight. He was a bit shorter than Hwoarang, a bandana holding back dark black hair that fell just above his eyes. He was skinny, his grimy navy T-shirt and and denim jeans fitting him loosely. Hollow green eyes stared out of a thin, pale face. Ratty tennis shoes that were too big were tied to his feet. Despite his overall skinny appearance, when he presented the money, Hwoarang noticed strong wrists and hands. Pocketing the cash, the gang leader assumed a sort of fighting stance, his style impossible to tell from years of picking up different moves off the streets.   
  
"I'm Taku. I'll kick your sorry ass for two hundred."  
  
Hwoarang quickly hopped into his stance, his heart fluttering with excitement. "I'm Hwoarang. I'd like to see you try."   
  
A pause. And then suddenly both men leaped at each other, Taku flying at the redhead in a flurry of kicks and punches. Hwoarang dodged all of them expertly, ducking and executing a powerful low kick to the knee. The scrawny man staggered, but thrust his other leg out to keep him from falling. He blocked an incoming punch to the head, and then a shuto chop to the ribs. What he could not block was the snap kick to his now-unguarded stomach. Taku fell on his back with an "Oof!" Hwoarang leaped on him and pressed his upper arm against his jugular. With his other arm he punched the helpless man in the face repeatedly. Taku kicked, and met Hwoarang's back squarely. When the redhead began to stand, Taku kicked out and slid on his back. He rolled backwards and handsprung to his feet, snapping back into his fighting position.  
  
Hwoarang whistled in approval. "That's a nifty little trick you got there." he commented. "Now let me show you one've mine." before Taku could react, Hwoarang ran at him and stepped onto his chest. Using his momentum, he pushed off and jumped behind his opponent, his other foot kicking out and coming in contact with his jaw. As the black haired man recovered from that surprise, Hwoarang landed behind him and grabbed his arm. He then pulled it down and twisted. Taku automatically followed the motion to avoid the pain, and ended up with his body facing the gray clouds and rain. Hwoarang jumped, and threw one leg over the gang member's shoulder. As the two came crashing to the ground, he snapped his leg down like an axe kick right on Taku's stomach.   
  
Taku heaved out a great gasp of air as the wind was knocked out of him. The sudden lack of oxygen made him dizzy, but as he had been taught, he got back to his feet as quickly as possible. He bindly punched, only to meet another expert block. The second his fist came in contact with Hwoarang's arm, he jumped and twisted, kicking at the left side Hwoarang's head with his left leg. Hwoarang blocked again, but Taku twisted his body to the left, his left leg still at Hwoarang's head. He quickly crossed his right leg over his left and locked his opponent's head between his ankles. As his torso came down, Taku put his hands out and pulled his legs back with all of his strength. Hwoarang came crashing down to the wet pavement on his head. Taku grinned proudly; this move has always snapped his opponent's necks. His gang cheered, and he turned to see the results.   
  
To his shock and horror, the persistent Korean was back on his feet, gesturing him to come back at him with his hand. Without waiting, Hwoarang lunged, jumped, and kicked hard with his left leg, sending Taku flying into the air. Before either man came back to the ground, Hwoarang spun and kicked with his right, and then slammed Taku to the concrete with a hard left axe kick. Hwoarang landed gracefully and jumped back a little, waiting for Taku to get up. The black haired man got to one knee and winced in pain. He coughed up blood, scarlet and glistening until the icy rainwater diluted it. He staggered to his feet and was barely able to get up.   
  
Hwoarang ran up to him and switched his stance quickly. Then, before Taku had a chance to fall, Hwoarang grabbed him with his left hand and twisted so his back was to him. Then he pulled Taku's arm forward and kicked back, flipping foreward as his leg brought the gang leader over head and to the ground. Taku bounced slightly and skidded into an alley wall with a loud whump! After that, he didn't get up.  
  
The redhead cracked his neck and knuckles as he causually sauntered to the motionless body. He checked Taku's pulse: extremely faint but still there. His breathing was labored shallow, and Hwoarang discovered a broken arm and five broken ribs. He guessed that the black haired man had internal bleeding as well. He probably wouldn't live.   
  
Despite the results of the quick analysis, Hwoarang fished into the gang leader's baggy pockets and grabbed the wad of money. When he verified that the cash wasn't counterfeit and that it added up to two hundred dollars, he gave the rest of the gang members a mock salute with two fingers and slipped his hands into his pockets. The rest of the men were too shocked to run and ollow the fatigue-adorned redhead; instead, they followed him with wide eyes as he disappeared into the silver curtain of rain.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
A/N:  
  
WAAAIIII!!!!! I dunno how long that is, and I dunno if it was worth the wait (I'm sorry if it wasn't) but I DO know that I'm very, VERY proud of the fight scene. ^_^ Incase I didn't explain it well enough, or you couldn't figure it out, the throws that Hwoarang did were, in this order from the second paragraph down, human cannonball, slaughterhouse, hunting hawk, and jacknife (only available in Tekken 4). The nifty sliding thing Taku did in the first paragraph was from The Matrix Reloaded (It's hard to come up with these things on my own, you know), and the throw he did in the third paragraph is a wrestling move...I dunno if it has a name or not, but I adore that throw. ^_^ So cool! Well, as soon as I get a good review, I'll try to get the next chapter out. Summer's coming and school's giving less and less homework, so let's hope that I get the next chap. out soon. ^_^  
  
Thank you so much for staying with me (if anyone did)! I appreciate it more than you know!  
  
~Mai 


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